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Silent Hill 2 Fanfic

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Author Topic: Silent Hill 2 Fanfic  (Read 17252 times)
Mutou Yami
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« on: October 16, 2010, 02:20:40 pm »

Chapter Twenty-Eight
Down the Murder Hole

This time, when I came to, I was already in an upright position, my hands propping up my upper body. I was facing yet another set of bars, and through them, a set of stairs leading up. I clearly was not out of the prison yet. I got to my feet and tried the gate. Wouldn’t even budge.

Behind me was a short hall with a pair of doors on each side and a larger double-door between them on the facing wall. I took a look at the doors on the sides. To call them doors was probably not very accurate. They were large, heavy slabs of water-rotten wood propped up in the doorways, but they weren’t doors, for there was no handle or knob on any of them, nor did any of them have hinges.

Then there was the double-doors. They were actually doors, complete with a handle. I approached them and gripped the handle. Before I opened it, though, I caught the scent of something bad, something wrong. It was the same noxious odor emanating from the hole when I opened the hatch cover, and there was a faint trace of it all over down here, but it was far stronger right here by the doors. It was such a nasty, sour smell, and unfortunately, it was a little more familiar than I would like to admit.

I pushed the door open, and when I did, the stench intensified dramatically, drifting and washing over me like a thick, evil cloud. The intensity incited open revolt in my guts, and it brought tears to my eyes even when I tried filtering my breath through my jacket sleeve.

But if the smell was horrible, it wasn’t even a primer for what I saw through my watery eyes. When I realized what the source of the malodorous air was, the stench, by comparison, might have been a field of fresh springtime daffodils.

The room was full of human corpses.

I don’t mean that as hyperbole, either. There were literally dozens of dead human beings in this very small chamber of horrors. Both sides of the room had holes bored into the walls, three high and three across, each one stuffed full of rotting cadavers. Rotting feet and emaciated legs poked out of each at crazy angles, the skin mottled and either fishbelly-white, or green and brown where mold and fungus consumed the flesh and muscle. There were no flies that I could see, but there soon would be; maggots crawled and writhed happily on and in several of the unfortunate bastards. I could almost hear them squirming, there were so many. It was a scene out of my worst nightmares, out of anyone’s worst nightmares.

In the center of the room was a hospital gurney, which held yet another corpse. This one was in the same deplorable shape as those crammed into the makeshift mausoleum, though it was covered in a ratty old sheet that was thick with filth. Worse yet, the body was very small. It was a child, or at best, an undersized young man. Just who the hell were they? What horrible fate brought them to this unholy resting place? Maybe they were ancient victims of the plague mentioned in the caption of the Brookhaven Painting in the Historical Society.

Of course, that couldn’t be true, as much as I wished it were. For one, the corpses were way too fresh, still meaty and decaying. That plague struck the town over a century ago. Any of those bodies would be decomposed to bones or mummified by now.

A more obvious tell-tale sign of their fate lay at my feet. The once-white tile was stained dark with blood, and it was quite liberally applied. Through the puddles of dried gore were wheel tracks. The gurney. And they led to…

The far wall had no holes in the wall. However, there was a very large hole in the floor, and the blood-stained tracks led right to it. They fanned out in several directions, making it obvious that the trip had been made many, many times. It was a dumping pit. Only God knew how many more bodies rested at the bottom. Except perhaps Satan, he might be privy to the knowledge. It sure looked like something he would endorse.

I couldn’t take any more. I was choking and if I stayed any longer, it would turn into dry-heaves, and I didn’t need that one bit. I high-tailed it back into the hall and slammed the door shut on that horror show.

Then, I slid to the floor, buried my face in my hands, and cried. I couldn’t help it.

Over the last twenty-four hours I had seen a lot of terrible, horrible things, things no man should ever have to see, and probably things no man had ever seen. Things that defied physics and nature, things that gang-raped every notion of reality and order I had ever held all my life. But not one of them, not even Pyramid Head himself, could have prepared me for this. None of them compared. And, I think the worst thing about it all was that this wasn’t impossible. There was nothing impossible about it. It involved no creatures from the dark abyss or warped perspectives. This was a horror not out of Lovecraft or King, but out of Auschwitz or maybe Khmer Cambodia. It was the realism, the abject possibility behind the scene that made it strike so hard and so violently.

I sat there for a minute or two, trying my damnedest to push away the images and feelings, trying to compose myself and press on. But to where? I was sitting in a hallway that had no working doors. I got to my wobbly feet and pushed against one of the side “doors”, but it didn’t give even an inch. I tried the others too, even lowering my shoulder and ramming one of them, but all four were nothing but heavy, immobile obstructions. The latch on the barred gate was glued solid by the damp and dirty elements. It would have taken an entire army to apply the force needed to crack the dirty adhesive. Or, it might snap off in my hand and slice me open again, like last time. Fate seemed to be forcing me to go back. And, I wasn’t entirely certain I would do it. I wasn’t sure I could force myself to re-enter that crypt, that it was preferable to sit here and starve to death rather than brave that again.

Except, when I found myself faced with a situation like this, I always managed to grin and bear it. This was no exception. All that was required was for me to remember what brought me here in the first place. I had both of them in my breast pocket with the flashlight, the photo of Mary and the letter she wrote to me. The letter. I unfolded it and read it again.

In my restless dreams, I see that town… Silent Hill. You promised you’d take me there again someday, but you never did. Well, I’m alone there now, in our special place.

Waiting for you.


If it was a fake, it was so damned good that even now I couldn’t differentiate it from any other sample of my wife’s handwriting. But maybe it was a fake. It was a country mile from impossible to do. And, considering where I was and what I was being put through, it wasn’t so difficult to think of this plain little piece of stationery as bait, bait that I bit without question. The bait had been speared by a hook, though. It was a dirty and rusty hook, and it dragged me by the cheeks into the depths of my worst nightmares, beating me down and scaring the **** out of me every step of the way. And yet, the hook was so expertly concealed and the bait so amazingly tantalizing that even as the hook shredded and abused and pulled me deeper and deeper, I refused to even consider the truth and reality of my situation. I still thought I would get what was promised at the end.

And as I sat there, sniffling, in the pit of some ancient, forgotten prison, leaning against a door that led into a room of festering, necrotizing corpses, I stared at that little piece of stationery, and the soft, flowery words written upon it. They were her words. There was no doubting that. Four years of being an English major had definitely added a few touches of the poet to Mary’s writing and speech. If I closed my eyes and cranked up my tired imagination, I could very clearly hear those words formed by her soft lips and given life with her breezy voice. I could even hear the faint hint of reproach that was almost certainly present when the words formed in her mind. If I had seen her writing them down, I would have heard; Mary was the type that vocalized as she wrote. But would a corpse speak words that it wrote? How was this even possible? Not that it was such a tremendous worry. One of the very few things that had prevented a complete severance of my mental facilities was my ability to take at least some of the impossibilities that I was encountering for granted. I was pretty sure that wouldn’t prove healthy in the long run, but seeing as the remainder of my lifespan might be measured in hours, it didn’t concern me that much.

The letter rested in my hands, but it seemed to be staring at me, goading me, prodding me forward ever so subtly. I read the words over and over and over again, starting from the beginning the moment I reached the end. It wasn’t hard, for it was a short letter. I read it and absorbed it completely and I would go crazy if I don’t stop now, James. You’ve come so far. Don’t leave me. Don’t forget about me, the way you did before. I’m waiting for you, James. I’m waiting for you in our special place. You know where it is, don’t you? Don’t stop, James. Keep going, James. You may die if you do but you will die if you stop. You will die, alone and afraid. You will die weeping and insane and undiscovered, lost in a place no person has ever been and no person will ever tread. You will die and you will never know why. You will never know where I am. You will never know why you suffer. You will never know why you came here. You will never know. You will never know. You will never know. You will never know. You will never know. You will never know. You will never

“Shut up!” I yelled, shaking the sheet of paper as if it really were a person, as if it really were taunting me. “Shut up! Just shut up! I will find out!” I stuffed the letter back in my pocket. My cheeks flushed as self-awareness flooded back, and I realized how intimately I was flirting with insanity, this time all of my own doing, and not the result of anything around me. The experience left me terrified for myself, but it also left me feeling quite angry for some reason, and that was probably why I charged back into the room with the corpse-holes without considering how thoroughly repulsive the idea was.

Consideration returned air-mail once the morbid sight came into view again, along with the ungodly stench of human flesh rotting and mildewing. So many bodies. It was a small mercy that I saw only legs. The eighteen corpse-holes were all jam-packed, but all of the bodies were stuffed in the holes head-first, leaving at least a hundred green dangling legs sprouting out from the walls. If Hell had trees, I’d bet that they look like this. And, the one body lying on the gurney was mostly covered by a sheet, with only its legs visible. It was certainly whole; I could see the contours of its face and arms through the soiled linen, but I had no desire to know any more. No, the last thing I felt like doing was touching one of them. I didn’t even want to look at them, either. All I wanted to do was get out...

The right leg of the corpse shifted, sliding to the side a few inches. I heard a sigh, well, I thought I heard a sigh or exhalation of some kind and I know I saw the leg move. I had the gun pointed at the body even before I thought to listen for the radio. It in fact was the silence that ended up relaxing me. It was just settling, that was all. Nothing to worry about. No reason to fear.

I lowered the gun and turned to the far wall, the wall that ended in what had to be a HOLE. The bloody wheel tracks spidered around it like veins, and the rim of the pit was stained nearly black with the stuff. My light reflected off of the blood with too much sheen. As if it were wet, or at least congealing. Which, of course, wasn’t possible. They had all been dead for too long. There was no way any of it could be so fresh.

I stood there on the precipice of that HOLE, staring down into its depths, wondering just what on earth I would land on when I jumped down. Because, you see, it wasn’t even an option. That ceased being the case a long time ago. And, despite the certainty that I had free-fallen several hundred feet and landed on hard stone or concrete every single time, I hadn’t yet been killed or seriously injured by these leaps of faith. I wasn’t really worried that was going to change this time, either.

But I was worried about landing on a heaping mound of rotting corpses. That was the sort of thing that I just really did not ever want to experience. My imagination was already being far too vivid in the imagery it provided in regards to the possible outcome. Having to see it for myself, with my real eyes and not my mind’s eye, I don’t know if I could take that. Just seeing this little room was bad enough. Seeing things like that corpse on the gurney…

It was gone. The body was gone.

The sheet lay completely flat upon its surface.

And now I did panic.

I reached for my pistol, fumbling as I did so because I was so surprised. I shouldn’t have been. I should have known better. And that was only one. What if they all came to life? There were dozens of them! I would never be able to fend them off, and might they follow me if I tried to escape down the HOLE? My mind was a flash-fire and my fingers just couldn’t keep up properly, even when I finally closed them around the gun and tried to bring it to eye level.

And then, I don’t know what happened, not to this day, no matter how much I try to figure it out. I felt pressure, an impact, as if someone or something had pushed me. At least, I think I did. It sure as hell felt like I did. Maybe I was just over-excited and I slipped on the blood beneath the soles of my shoes. It was all on naked tile, after all, and the traction would have been damn near awful. But the body was gone and something pushed me and now I was teetering backwards and for a split-second, at the very moment that momentum shifted against me, the very moment gravity took command and pulled me into the stinking HOLE behind me, my wide and wild eyes locked directly onto that disgusting old gurney and the moldy old linens atop it.

And the pair of desiccated legs splayed out between them, lying there akimbo and motionless.

Just as they had for a very long time.

It didn’t. The blast of the rifle was tremendous, a nearly solid wall of percussive noise in such cramped quarters. The recoil was just as tremendous, too. It kicked my ass quite literally, throwing me back into the door and almost knocking the wind out of me. I recovered quickly though, still unsure of the monster’s fate.

One look at it made me dead certain that it wasn’t going to pull a second resurrection act. The shell hit the monster right where its neck would be, and the head was almost completely torn off, attached to the rest of the body by a few savagely-torn shreds of oily flesh. I stood there staring at it, fascinated. Oh, if it can only do the same thing to Pyramid Head, I just might survive this town. The grisly scene on the ground sure gave me reason to hope, though I would have to be careful and not waste any more of it on these lesser monsters, for there were only three bullets left. I shouldered the rifle again and exited the room.

There was a rather ornate door at the end of a short branch of the hallway, painted green and gold, but its knob had that same limp, dead feeling that so many others had when I turned them. So, that left the barred gate.

Which, to my surprise, opened without a hitch.

Directly ahead was a hatch in the floor. I walked over to it and pulled the handle. It opened to reveal nothing but empty blackness. Warm air wafted up from below, and there was a strange odor as well, a strange smell. Sweet, but not in a pleasant way. It smelled like overripe fruit, but not as strong. Without a doubt, I had discovered yet another HOLE, and even though there were a few doors nearby, I knew with pretty good certainty that I was supposed to take yet another plunge into this Abyss I was already in up past my neck. I knew this was where I had to go, what I had to do. So, I closed my eyes and raised my hands above my head so I would fit down the narrow opening.

Then I leapt forward, and down the HOLE, into the warmth and embrace of the darkness.
« Last Edit: October 16, 2010, 02:26:29 pm by Mutou Yami » Report Spam   Logged


All Hail The Strogg!
R.I.P. Paul Gray - April 8, 1972 – May 24, 2010.


"Stay...
 I Need You Here, For A New Day To Break...
Stay...
I Want You Near, Like A Shadow In My Wake...
Stay...
Here With Me... Don't You Leave...
Stay...
Stay With Me, Until The Day's Over..."
I love you Mutou Yami... Forever.


Long Live, Mr.Yamaoka Akira, The Silent Hill Legend.
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